


Paradise Regained

by ThetaSigma



Category: Good Omens (TV)
Genre: Alcohol Use/Abuse, Ineffable Husbands (Good Omens), Light Angst with Happy Ending, Lots of old timey insults, M/M, Some Humor, romeo and juliet - Freeform
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2019-11-10
Updated: 2019-11-10
Packaged: 2021-01-27 03:17:31
Rating: Teen And Up Audiences
Warnings: No Archive Warnings Apply
Chapters: 1
Words: 6,186
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/21385201
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/ThetaSigma/pseuds/ThetaSigma
Summary: Wouldn’t it be nice, Aziraphale thought, if they could be on the same side finally?But of course demons couldn’t unfall. It was silly to wish for that. And rather dangerous, since thinking that a demon might unfall and become Heavenly again was tantamount to saying that God had erred and that demons could be redeemed. And things like that led to falls.Aziraphale froze. He could Fall. Crowley couldn’t rejoin Heaven, but Aziraphale could Fall from Heaven and become a demon, and then they would be on the same side.****or,A showing ofRomeo and Julietleads Aziraphale to consider Falling.
Relationships: Aziraphale/Crowley (Good Omens)
Comments: 15
Kudos: 121





	Paradise Regained

**Author's Note:**

> Aziraphale uses a lot of older English words here that I've defined at the end

Aziraphale should have been enjoying himself, and the fact that he wasn’t made him irritable and out of sorts. He was at a showing of  _ Romeo and Juliet _ , brought back on the stage because of the blow-out success of  _ Hamlet _ (Crowley may have gone a  _ bit _ overboard in miracling that one).

He liked this one. Two lovers separated by their families, like  _ Tristan and Isolde  _ (which he had liked a lot, too), a tragic ending, wonderful writing… The actors were all fantastic, too, and he was annoyed that he couldn’t focus on any of it.

He missed Crowley. Crowley would be muttering about hating the sad ones, and pointing out Romeo and Juliet had known each other for mere days, and laughing about the particularly unconvincing Nanny, and stealing glances at him to see if Aziraphale was enjoying it, and without Crowley, this wasn’t nearly as much fun.

But he couldn’t just go  _ find _ Crowley and invite him to a play. Not unless it was for the Arrangement, and even then they were very hush-hush about it. Heaven or Hell could start wondering why they spent so much time together. And he’d never be able to tell Crowley he just wanted to spend time with the demon. If Heaven found out….

Lines from the play penetrated Aziraphale’s musings:  _ O Romeo, Romeo! Wherefore art thou Romeo? Deny thy father and refuse thy name, or if thou wilt not, be but sworn my love, and I’ll no longer be a Capulet. _

Wouldn’t it be nice, Aziraphale thought, if they could be on the same side finally? 

But of course demons couldn’t unfall. It was silly to wish for that. And rather dangerous, since thinking that a demon might unfall and become Heavenly again was tantamount to saying that God had erred and that demons could be redeemed. And things like that led to falls.

Aziraphale froze.  _ He could Fall. _ Crowley couldn’t rejoin Heaven, but Aziraphale could  _ Fall _ from Heaven and become a demon, and  _ then _ they would be on the same side.

The rest of the play passed without Aziraphale even hearing a word. The crowd got up and dispersed, and Aziraphale remained seated, pondering this. 

_ I could Fall, _ he thought to himself. Would he want to? To be with Crowley, absolutely. He felt more alive, more real, more  _ everything _ when the demon was around, when the demon quirked a half-smile at him or talked to him or called him angel. He wouldn’t be leaving a whole lot behind. A stuffy bureaucracy, superiors who barely tolerated him and who he barely tolerated in turn, the absence of any true friendship or love.

He wasn’t sure he’d be particularly good at being demonic, though. He heard his demon’s voice in his head, laughing at him.  _ Oh, Angel… you’re a bloody hedonist, you’re halfway there already. And you’ve done half my temptations for me in the past several centuries. There’s not much left. _ And Crowley wasn’t really that much of a demon either. Generally a decent being who couldn’t stop asking questions.

A thought brought him up short -- perhaps an echo from the theatre from earlier in the day (unlikely. More likely to be some hapless actor practicing his lines for the next show):  _ be but sworn my love _ .

He’d Fall in a heartbeat for Crowley -- dive out of Heaven flipping off every angel cheerfully -- but not if Crowley didn’t want him. Not if Crowley didn’t want him the same way Aziraphale wanted Crowley.

It was suddenly  _ extremely _ important for him to know if Crowley loved him. He moved for the first time in hours -- someone had cleaned the theatre while he was musing and had thought he was some strange statue since he had been completely still and not even breathing -- and focused on Crowley’s location. If Crowley were anywhere within London right now, Aziraphale would be able to find him.

Once he’d located the demon, he walked there. He had considered  _ wishing _ himself there, but that plan had several flaws. One, until this whole thing was sorted and he’d properly decided, he’d avoid any unnecessary use of powers. Especially if Crowley didn’t love him -- he’d hate to have to explain to a Heaven he was staying in why he’d suddenly needed to be at a demon’s lodgings. Two, he wanted to think about this more. Aziraphale was not prone to impulsive actions, that was more Crowley’s thing. Crowley moved fast, Aziraphale pondered and meditated and thought. 

But this felt so …  _ right _ . Weirdly so given that he was very seriously considering falling and doing so  _ deliberately. _

What if they still didn’t get to be together? What if Hell sent them to separate places? Aziraphale somehow doubted that if he fell  _ just for _ Crowley, they’d honestly separate the two. Causing an angel to fall would be a commendable action for any demon, and surely that demon would then get some extra privileges (like not letting go of the new demon). 

Aziraphale wrinkled his nose at the thought of Crowley getting a commendation for his Fall. Unless he completely misread their relationship of millennia, Crowley had behaved in a decidedly undemonlike manner and  _ loved _ him. Anyway, a commendation for this seemed to make it tacky and cheap. 

What if Hell didn’t want him? Aziraphale paused.  _ Could _ Hell refuse a demon? Was that even an option? What did Hell do to demons it didn’t want? He didn’t quite want to imagine it. Could he be rejected by both?

He had so many questions, and he didn’t think anyone would have any answers for him. Most of this was completely uncharted territory. Aziraphale didn’t even think  _ any _ angel had fallen since  _ the _ Fall, the main event. Every other angel had been too petrified of Hell to even come within shouting distance of the line; Aziraphale was the only one who routinely came close. And he was generally looked down on for that. 

His musings came to an end as he noticed he was at Crowley’s residence. A ramshackle building that sent off strong “go the  _ fuck away _ ” vibes, which Aziraphale ignored. He knocked loudly on the door before he could lose his nerve.

A head poked out of the upper window. Aziraphale almost giggled. It was like that window scene from  _ Romeo and Juliet _ , the one that had started his musings about falling. “Who the fuck are you and what the  _ fuck _ do you want at this hour?” Crowley asked in a cross voice. 

“Crowley?” Aziraphale asked, looking up.

“Wha-- Angel, is that you?” Crowley called back, leaning down a bit and peering at him. “Bugger me sideways, it is. What are you doing here at 3 in the morning, angel?”

“Crowley, would you mind terribly coming to the door, at least? This angle is not comfortable for my neck and we’ll wake your neighbours.”

“They won’t say anything if they know what’s good for them,” Crowley muttered as he pulled his head back in. Aziraphale heard the loud clattering that heralded Crowley descending stairs* and seconds after that, the door opened.

_ *Anyone who watched Crowley run down stairs was transfixed. Some people managed to rush down them in grace and elegance. Some people managed to sweep down them with perfect poise. Some people managed to rush down them with zero grace but with such speed that one was impressed anyway. Others descended staircases in no exceptional way, and there was nothing of interest to watch. Crowley descended them as though each one of his four limbs had independent thought and differing ideas about where to go and how strongly to follow gravity. He was not exceptionally fast at this performance, and always particularly loud, as though each limb also wanted to protest the idea of stairs existing. The most transfixing part was that despite his baby-giraffe-finding-its-legs-for-the-first time flail down the stairs, he never missed one, never misjudged a step, and never fell. He reached the bottom every time and proceeded to slink onwards with his sashaying walk as if that stair thing had never happened.  _

_ Aziraphale really, really loved watching Crowley descend stairs, simply because he found it utterly endearing. _

Crowley stood in the doorway, dressed in a dark nightshirt with a dark robe thrown on over hastily. His feet were bare, his eyes were uncovered, and his hair was a mess.

“My dear, did I wake you?”

“Was indulging in a nap, yes,” Crowley answered. “Nothing big, just the past couple of weeks.”

Neither of them said anything for a moment. Crowley obviously said nothing because he was the one who had been woken from a nap unceremoniously and was still attempting to figure out what this was about. Aziraphale, now that the moment of truth had arrived, was honestly a bit worried about asking.

“Not that I object to seeing you again, angel, but did you have a reason for waking me?” Crowley finally prompted. “Especially at 3am, which is hardly normal hours for a social visit?”

Aziraphale gathered all his resolve to himself. “Yes, as a matter of fact. Crowley, my dear, it’s vitally important I know the answer to this question: do you love me?”

Crowley looked like he could be knocked over by a light breeze. His jaw dropped (far further than a human’s technically should), his eyes widened, and various sounds emerged from his throat. Not one of them counted as an attempt at communication. With visible effort, he pulled himself together, shutting his mouth with a click and swallowing several times before attempting speech again. “Angel,” he said in a voice laced with agony. “ _ How _ could you ask me that?”

Aziraphale fidgeted, his determination crumbling. Softly, so softly that only a demon or angel’s enhanced ears could hear him, he said, “I know it’s dangerous to ask, to wonder, if they’re watching, but…”

Crowley shook his head angrily, his messy red hair flying. “No,” he said firmly. “That’s actually  _ not _ what I meant, angel. I mean, how can you not  _ know? _ I have loved you since you said you  _ gave away the flaming sword _ . I’ve loved you every moment we’ve been on Earth, I would spin new nebulas for you -- ”

“Nebulae, dear,” Aziraphale interrupted pedantically, not quite noticing he was doing so. 

“I spun the blessed things, I’ll call them what I like!” Crowley snapped back. “It doesn’t matter. Angel, I have loved you with everything I am and everything I have.  _ How _ can you stand here and ask me like you don’t know?” And then, softly -- almost too softly for even Aziraphale to hear -- he added, “How can you…  _ torture _ me like this?”

Because that’s what it was, wasn’t it? Torture. An angel and a demon, and whatever love they had for each other simply couldn’t be. Asking Crowley to say it, having this conversation, when it was clear with how things were this could never be anything… Aziraphale felt enough guilt to drown in.

“My dear… for every one of those moments, I have loved you too,” Aziraphale said. 

Crowley slumped forward, catching his head in his hands and yanking hard on his hair. “Great,” he said miserably. “That’s buggeringly wonderful.” He gave a hollow laugh. “And what do we do now, angel?” He didn’t need to explain further.

Aziraphale  _ ached _ . He had to know -- he  _ had _ to -- if Crowley loved him, otherwise why would he Fall? But the sheer misery in Crowley’s voice hurt more than anything else possibly could. The only thing he wanted to do was gather Crowley in his arms and swear that nothing would  _ ever _ separate them, but if he did, if he let himself go to Crowley, he would never let go and he would not get to leave Heaven on his terms. Falling was not guaranteed. They could always simply extinguish him with Hellfire.

So he forced himself, with superhuman will, to take a step back. And another, and a third, until even his wings wouldn’t have been able to reach Crowley.

“I’m sorry,” he murmured uselessly and turned and walked off quickly.

He did not look back. He wouldn’t have been able to keep to his plan if he’d seen Crowley again. The choked off cry he heard had yanked at him hard enough.

***

It was very rare that Aziraphale went to Heaven without being called. He had never particularly liked Heaven, not through any of its redecorations, and the angels who milled around were worse than the bland color schemes and sterile offices.

He strode into Gabriel’s office. Gabriel was sitting at his desk, filling in paperwork. He looked up when Aziraphale walked in unannounced and gave a huge, shit-eating grin. “Aziraphale, my old chum!” he said with false delight, his voice loud and booming. He always had been a klazomaniac. “To what do we owe this visit? Sit, sit.”

Aziraphale remained standing. He felt small and dull next to the taller, smug angel, but he gathered his not-inconsiderable resolve to himself and said, “Actually, Gabriel, I rather did want to discuss something important.”

Gabriel made a show of checking his watch. It was unnecessary, of course: angels hardly functioned the same way about time as humans did, given that they had so much  _ more _ of it. Aziraphale suddenly resented that these absolute degenerates were given so much more  _ time _ than humans were, who managed to do so many useful things in so little time*.

_ *Aziraphale did not consider that perhaps it was precisely  _ because  _ humans had such limited lifespans, comparatively speaking, that they managed to create so  _ much. 

“Well, Aziraphale, old friend, I think I can make five minutes for you, but no more.” Gabriel smiled one of his faker smiles*. “I’ve got a meeting with Metatron pretty soon, and of course that’s gotta take precedent.” 

_ *Every one of Gabriel’s smiles was fake, but there was a definite ranking of how fake and in what way. There was the “I’m smiling because I’m told it’s appropriate but trust me I don’t actually like making my face do this”, the “I’m smiling because you and I are such good buddies even though any reasonable being would hate my guts”, the “I’m smiling because I’m such a good boss and employees like to be smiled at”, the “I’m smiling to hide that I’m a prick”.... Aziraphale was pretty sure he was the only angel who had bothered to catalogue Gabriel’s various fake smiles. After all, most angels had their own set of fake smiles; Gabriel’s were just smugger than most. Aziraphale seemed to be the only angel who smiled out of genuine pleasure or amusement. This entire meeting was driving home how very, very much he didn’t fit in here. _

This angered Aziraphale more. He doubted Gabriel  _ actually _ had a meeting with Metatron because pretty much  _ everyone _ avoided talking to  _ that _ prick, and Gabriel was no exception. Also, he could tell Gabriel was trying to put him off, and while Aziraphale had little love for this place, he had done his job and done it well for millennia. He figured the very least he deserved was a meeting with his boss if he had an issue. All his plans of laying out his request in a measured way and asking to become a demon flew out the window, and he snapped, “You know, you’ve always been the most sanctimonious prick I’ve ever had the displeasure of meeting!”

Gabriel’s smile didn’t falter. “Aziraphale, buddy, this is  _ Heaven. _ Sanctimonious is just part of the job description.”

Aziraphale scowled more deeply. “Really? Because I seem to remember something about love and peace, and frankly not a single angel here is capable of love, unless it’s self-love.”

Gabriel’s smile did falter a bit at that. “Aziraphale, buddy, I think you’ve got a bit of burn-out.” He waved a hand. “Not important, happens to the best of field agents.” His muttered, “not that you are, but we don’t exactly have many options” was perfectly audible. Aziraphale clenched his teeth. “I think you need a vacation, some place without all the aggravation. There are some lovely nebulae not far from here; we could book you into one of those.” He shuffled papers around as though looking for details on these nebulae*.

_ *Heaven, probably very deliberately, had forgotten that the nebulae were designed by an angel who ended up Falling and becoming a demon. They took credit for the stunning vistas and had turned them into something of a luxury resort for angels. An angel -- and not just any angel, but the highest of the hierarchies -- could go there to be pampered and forget all about sin and evil and the constant effort of Thwarting the Adversary. Different ones had different preferences based on color and cloud-thickness and visibility of other stars. _

_ Crowley -- who knew full-well what his nebulae were being used for -- loathed that his creation was used only by the most elite of the elite. While they were beautiful from any vantage-point, the idea that only certain beings were able to fully appreciate them made his blood boil, especially since they lacked any of the necessary emotions to really  _ get _ the nebulae. Whenever he wanted to summon particularly potent Hellfire, that’s the thought he focused on. Smug elite angels lounging around his nebulae without even really understanding what the work was about.  _

Aziraphale, up until this moment, hadn’t known the nebulae were luxury resorts, and he became as angry as Crowley, if not more, that Heaven had managed to corrupt such beauty. This only furthered his already strong resolve to break with Heaven entirely. 

“I’ll pass,” he said quietly. “Somehow I don’t think the being who created the nebulae likes that we use it as a luxury resort.”

Gabriel waved that away too. “Oh, he’s not important. One of the tragic fallen; Hell’s teeming with those.” Gabriel laughed. “He wouldn’t be able to appreciate it anyway. He’s a demon; what does he know of celestial beauty?”

This  _ enflamed _ Aziraphale. He felt capable, suddenly and for the first time in his very long existence, of summoning potent Hellfire himself. “A lot more than any of you do, you sciolist, that’s for certain. I know the demon to which you’re referring, and he’s a better, more moral, kinder, more loving, and nicer being than any of the angels who litter this place!”

“Aziraphale, buddy, I think this might be a bit stronger than some burn-out. You know what, take the rest of the century off, get your head on straight.”

“My head is on perfectly straight, you… you…  _ scaramouch! _ Crowley could be held up here as an  _ example _ of what angels should strive to be! For all we talk about love and peace, the being who loves me the most, in the purest way, is a  _ demon. _ Square  _ that _ with your sanctimonious bullshit, Gabriel.”

“Oh, dear,” Gabriel said, shaking his head. “I see what’s happening. He’s been tempting you, hasn’t he? Are you having lustful thoughts, Aziraphale?”

Aziraphale didn’t squirm, but it was a close call. He  _ was _ having lustful thoughts, rather a lot of them. There was a kaleidoscope of images in his head of what he wanted to do to and with Crowley. In some other place, had this been brought up in some other way, Aziraphale may have faltered here. He may have thought to himself that perhaps there was truth to it, perhaps Crowley had been tempting him and pretending to love him. But not this time, not in this place, not with the way Gabriel sneered at it. Not when Aziraphale knew, deep-down, that Crowley had done  _ nothing _ to tempt him besides exist and love him. Not when every image that floated through Aziraphale’s mind was suffused with love. 

Not when Crowley had looked so  _ broken _ admitting his love and hearing it returned, had refused to even step closer to Aziraphale. Had Crowley actually been tempting him, toying with him, that would have been the victory moment, not a moment of sheer anguish.

“Aziraphale,” Gabriel said sternly. “Remember he’s a demon. This is a game to him. I really think it’s time we pulled you out of the field for a bit. I hadn’t realised you were so compromised by this serpent, but, well, you do seem to have gone a bit native. He’s  _ nothing, _ understand? Just a second-rate demon they stuck on Earth so they wouldn’t have to deal with him too often, bored by how much of a sinecure his job is. Don’t become a scapegrace like  _ him. _ ”

Aziraphale was fairly surprised that no Hellfire appeared when he heard that: he had become so angry that he felt like he was  _ burning _ with it. “Don’t talk about him like that,” Aziraphale snarled. “Don’t you  _ ever _ talk about him like that! You… you are not worthy to be the dirt he steps on! His  _ fingernails _ have more value than the entirety of Heaven! You are nothing more than a bobolyne, a gobermouch, a cumberworld.” His chest heaved in anger, and had he stopped to think about it, he would have considered those insults to be rather crude, but his entire being with suffused with bone-deep hatred for Heaven. 

“You know what, Gabriel?” Aziraphale said, pulling calm towards himself again. “Fuck this shit. Fuck you, fuck Heaven, fuck this entire fucking place, and may all of your socks be forever just  _ slightly _ damp. Aziraphale,  _ out _ .”

With a snap, Aziraphale manifested his wings, which were no longer pure white. In fact, they were a dark grey and darkening every second.

He very deliberately stepped towards the large window and even more deliberately punched through it with angelic -- or demonic -- strength. The window  _ shattered _ spectacularly, raining glass downwards. Aziraphale looked out at Heaven for a moment and, for the first time in his life, felt absolutely nothing but contempt when he looked out. 

He dove headfirst out the window, laughing all the way. Wind whipped past him as he fell --  _ Fell _ \-- plummeting down from Heaven straight to Hell. His wings were finally a pure, dark black, and he tucked them in to fall ever faster. As he fell, he could feel his angelic nature and powers  _ burning _ out of him, but shockingly, it didn’t hurt. Maybe it was the delight he felt in finally leaving this place behind, maybe it hurt so  _ much _ he was blocking the pain, maybe it just genuinely  _ didn’t hurt _ , but it felt more like shackles falling off of him than anything. If anything, he felt a bit weak and a bit addled, but given that a very large part of who he had been up until now had been unceremoniously burned out of him, he would forgive himself that.

Aziraphale only laughed harder as he neared Hell. The laugh was maniacal, slightly hysterical, but overall  _ pure joy. _ He felt free in this moment and couldn’t even bring himself to worry about what kind of reception Hell would give him. 

***

Aziraphale landed in Hell with a  _ thump.  _ He would rather have gone to Crowley directly, but it seemed that he didn’t have much choice in this. A crowd of demons, stymphalists all, had gathered, with Beelzebub at the front. They were fairly poleaxed, not that Aziraphale was surprised.  _ No _ angel had fallen since the rebellion. Aziraphale realised no angel would even know  _ how _ to -- after all, his original plan had been to ask Gabriel to kick him out. With all the chaos that had surrounded the rebellion, Aziraphale wasn’t even sure any of the  _ demons _ knew exactly how an angel went about falling.

Aziraphale stood up and brushed himself off. “Well,” he said. “Well.”

Beelzebub frowned. “Is this one of Heaven’s  _ tricks?” _ they snarled, their s’s having a distinct buzzing quality to them.

“Oh, no, not at all,” Aziraphale assured them. He smiled his most disarming smile, which seemed to put all the demons on higher alert. He stopped smiling, and his mind raced with how to explain this. He could just say it was all the demon Crowley’s fault, and would they please let him go to Crowley already. He could say he and Heaven had some differences of opinion that ended with them tossing him out. Or…. “Miracles can’t change non-corporeal forms, right?” he questioned, leading them to the conclusion he wanted them to draw.

“No,” Beelzebub acknowledged. “You think half of us would look like this if we had a  _ choice?” _

“So if I were an angel, and this  _ were _ one of Heaven’s tricks, I wouldn’t be able to get my wings properly black, correct?”

“They’re sneaky,” one of Beelzebub’s crew said. “Who knows, maybe they  _ did _ find a way.”

Beelzebub regarded Aziraphale suspiciously.

“You’ve dealt with angels since the Fall,” Aziraphale said, addressing Beelzebub directly. “Do you think any of them would  _ sully _ themselves with appearing to be a demon?”

“No,” Beelzebub said grudgingly. “So what is this?”

Aziraphale shrugged. “Had enough of Heaven, thank you. You must have heard of Heaven’s field agent in reports to Hell: how I love my food, for example. Thought it was time to  _ properly _ experience the sins.”

Beelzebub looked at Aziraphale consideringly. “And what do you expect us to do with you?”

“You could always send me back to Earth,” Aziraphale answered. “After all, there are just  _ so many _ of those humans now. Can one full-time field agent really keep up on his own?” He considered for a moment whether to tell them about the Arrangement but figured that that may still be a bad idea. After all, while Aziraphale  _ had _ done quite a few of Crowley’s temptations (which Hell would be very impressed with), Crowley had also done quite a few of Aziraphale’s blessings (which Hell would be very  _ not _ impressed with). “And after all, Crowley and I are quite familiar with one another by now.”

Beelzebub grinned at him suddenly. “Oi, you can’t fool me, demon. You went and fell  _ for _ Crowley.” They managed to imbue "fell for" with both meanings.

“Guilty as charged,” Aziraphale answered. “Although I would rather like to point out that knowing Crowley has made me realise that Heaven was very wrong about a very long list of things.” 

Beelzebub nodded. “Can’t rightly say this has happened before, honestly. Don’t think an angel has fallen since the rebellion. So if the demon Crowley had  _ anything _ at all to do with it, off you go, join him. And tell him he’s getting a commendation for it!” they called after Aziraphale as he started to leave.

***

Aziraphale went straight to Crowley after that. Heaven had lost its hold on him and Hell had accepted him, somewhat grudgingly, so now they were finally on the  _ same side _ .

He knocked on the door. This time, it was not the dead of night, and Aziraphale wasn’t even sure if Crowley was here. He hadn’t planned this part at all. He was operating on sheer instinct, every one of which was telling him  _ go to Crowley _ . Aziraphale didn’t even know yet if he’d be able to sense Crowley the same way or if he still had powers of any kind. He figured he couldn’t do miracles, but Crowley wished things and stopped time, so surely Aziraphale could affect reality  _ somehow _ , right? 

He didn’t know, however, and none of it mattered right now. 

Aziraphale knocked on the door again, louder this time. 

“Piss off!” a voice snarled from inside. “Whoever it is can just  _ piss off _ right  _ now!” _ Crowley went on.

“Crowley, it’s me!” Aziraphale called back.

He heard Crowley dragging himself towards the door. It sounded like a slow, laborious process, and he could  _ picture _ Crowley doing so, pulling himself alongside furniture and draping himself through doorways. 

The door opened and Crowley half-fell through it, catching himself last moment on the doorway. He looked miserable and defeated, and Aziraphale  _ ached _ with the amount of pain he had caused. 

“Angel,” Crowley greeted. “Not a good time.”

“It’s important,” Aziraphale insisted.

“So was our last conversation, which I’m still recovering from. I’ve got another dozen jugs of ale waiting for me, so if this can wait a bit…?”

Had Aziraphale been thinking at all rationally, he would have realised this could absolutely wait a bit. He’d fallen, it was a  _ fait accompli _ , he could give time Crowley to process their previous conversation. But Aziraphale  _ wasn’t _ thinking rationally. He had most certainly  _ wanted _ to Fall, but having his angelic nature stripped out of him also addled his brain just a bit. He felt like a newborn in a way. Part of it certainly was everything that had guided his actions had just been removed and he’d been left with one thing: his absolute love for Crowley, which was pulling him here. 

And since he wasn’t thinking rationally at all, he said, “No, I’m rather afraid it can’t, my dear.”

Crowley, with a grunt of effort, hauled himself more towards upright and swayed inwards. “Well, then, come in, I suppose. You can have one of the jugs of ale.” He turned and stumbled inwards, gripping furniture on his way.

He was very, very,  _ very _ drunk, Aziraphale realised*. He wondered just how long it had been since their conversation -- time moved differently in Heaven and Hell. He wondered if Crowley had been drinking nonstop since.

_ *Another thing Aziraphale may have noticed if he were feeling more himself. When Crowley had fallen through the door (mostly), it would have been obvious to pretty much anyone with functioning eyes, ears, or nose that he was three sheets to the wind. His hair hung damply into his face, the stench of alcohol hung around him like a cloud, his eyes were uncovered, reddened, and bleary, his words were slurred, often beyond comprehension, and his movements were sloppy and uncoordinated.  _

“Bit of an odd question, I realise, but how long has it been since we last saw each other?” Aziraphale asked, picking his way through the dark room carefully. Broken ale jugs littered the floor and made walking rather hazardous.

“Two days,” Crowley grunted. “Was getting really properly mind-endingly drunk and then planning on passing out for a couple of centuries.” He was so drunk he didn’t even find the question odd.

This was another moment where, if Aziraphale had been thinking rationally, he would have stopped and delayed the conversation. Crowley was at the point in alcohol consumption where any human would have died long ago. His mind was very likely mostly gone at this point. 

Aziraphale wished he could summon light in some way because he really wanted to see Crowley when he told him this. On the other hand, there was something comforting about hiding in the darkness when he admitted what he’d done.

Crowley fell into a chair, his limbs and head hanging limply towards the floor. “G’on,” he slurred. “Wasso imp’ant?”

This part was somehow harder than the actual fall, Aziraphale realised. He swallowed and wished one of those jugs of ale Crowley had mentioned was nearer. “I wanted to tell you, my dear,” he said, forcing the words out, “that, well, that we’re on the same side now.”

Crowley snorted. “An angel and a... “ he trailed off. Clearly something in his mind had sparked, regardless of how much he’d tried to pickle it. With extremely uncoordinated moves, he forced himself into a more upright situation. “No. No, no, tell me… Hang on.” He concentrated,  _ hard, _ and alcohol refilled the jugs. Also most of the floor, given that many of the jugs had broken in Crowley’s two-day drinking binge. 

Completely sober, Crowley rearranged himself into a sitting position and snapped his fingers to create light. “Say that again,” he demanded, staring hard at Aziraphale.

“We’re on the same side now,” Aziraphale said quietly, picking at the cuff of his sleeve.

“You didn’t. Angel, tell me you didn’t fall,” Crowley whispered. “No, no, no, not  _ you. _ ”

Aziraphale, in answer, manifested his wings. Crowley had seen them once before, on the wall, blindingly white, stunningly beautiful. They were still stunningly beautiful, but pitch-black.

Crowley jumped up. “Who forced you out? Who found out?”

“My dear,  _ no one _ forced me out. I deliberately  _ left. _ ”

Crowley spun in a circle, yanked at his hair, kicked a chair, and ended up back where he started, staring at Aziraphale. “Why? Why would you do that? What  _ possessed _ you?”

Most of Aziraphale’s wits had returned to him at this point, thankfully, otherwise he would have blurted out that he did it simply out of  _ love _ , and he knew that Crowley would have been devastated by that answer. At least presented that baldly. He would have spent centuries blaming himself. 

But since his wits had mostly come back to him, he could answer a lot more cautiously, and said, “Because it seemed to be against every single thing I was ever taught about Heaven and Hell that the being who loved me the most was a demon. And when I questioned that, I was told that I had been addled and tricked, all of my questions were dismissed, and so I told the Archangel Gabriel to go fuck himself and dove out of his window.”

He had hoped that would make Crowley laugh. It didn’t quite, but at least a smile started appearing on his face. “I’d have  _ loved _ to see that.”

“Oh, my dear, it really was most wonderful, telling him what a sanctimonious prick he was.” He took Crowley’s hands. “I love you, you know. And it is worth a fall -- it is worth a  _ thousand _ falls -- to be able to tell you so without fear of retribution.”

Crowley buried his face in Aziraphale’s neck, which involved him slumping onto Aziraphale. Aziraphale deftly caught him and held him close. “I’m not worth it,” Crowley muttered. “I’m not. I’m not the good person you think I am.”

“My dear, of course you’re worth it. And do you honestly think I am a better being than you? I just knew when to keep my mouth shut.”

Aziraphale felt the smile against his neck. He kept talking, realising that something about this was more profound to Crowley than his own fall had been. “I think we  _ both _ got it right, that day on the wall. You with the apple and me with the sword.” Crowley made a small noise. “You know, it’s rather funny that I’m the one who kept seeking knowledge after that. Tried to avoid weapons since.”

Crowley finally lifted his head again. “I don’t ever want you to regret this, Aziraphale,” he said seriously.

“If I had never met you, if you hadn’t slithered towards the East Wall but a different one, I don’t think I’d have fallen,” Aziraphale said, and Crowley made a choked noise. “Let me  _ finish _ ,” Aziraphale said sternly. “But I would have lived a very, very bland existence if we had never met. I would have never seen as much or learned as much or loved as much. I would have been so very, very alone. I will never regret meeting you, I will never regret loving you, and I will never regret that I chose you over the dubious benefits of Heaven.”

Crowley seemed lost for words. He saw Aziraphale’s wings and said finally, “They’re a bit of a mess from your fall. Would you like me to straighten that out for you?”

“I would be delighted.” Aziraphale turned, and Crowley set to straightening his feathers. Aziraphale moaned in surprised delight. “No one’s ever touched my wings before,” he admitted.

“Mine either,” Crowley said distractedly, delicately working on those beloved wings. 

“I’ll have to do yours next, then,” Aziraphale said. There was silence for some moments, and Aziraphale had the sense Crowley was teeming with questions but holding himself back in case it was a traumatic experience. Aziraphale somehow loved him even more. “Do you want to hear what happened with Gabriel?” he asked.

“Only if you want to share,” Crowley answered immediately, confirming Aziraphale’s suspicions. 

Aziraphale recounted, to the best of his ability, the entire meeting, and Crowley was laughing delightedly halfway through. 

“I mean, did  _ you _ know that they use your nebulae as luxury resorts?”

“What do you think I focus on when I really want to summon Hellfire?” Crowley answered. “And so, what, did Hell welcome you with open arms?”

“No, more a suspicious battalion of demons, but I think I won Beelzebub over. They say you’re getting a commendation, by the way. Tempting an angel into falling.”

Crowley’s hands stilled. “I… Aziraphale, you have to…”

Aziraphale realised his mistake immediately. “Dearest, I do not for a second think you _tempted _me. I think if I had told you what I planned you would have done your absolute best to talk me out of it. You’ve never behaved inappropriately. Shush and let them think what they want. Take the commendation. It comes with a newly-minted demon, I’m told. One of Heaven’s field agents, even!”

Crowley laughed and pressed a kiss to Aziraphale’s neck. “So are you my reward or my partner, angel?”

“Believe I’m both. And I’m not an angel, Crowley.”

Crowley nudged Aziraphale so he’d turn and look at him. “You may not be  _ an _ angel anymore, but you will always,  _ always  _ be  _ my _ angel.”

**Author's Note:**

> Oh, boy, so first, I hope everyone enjoyed this!  
I also wanted to define/explain any older references:  
_Paradise Regained_ was a work by John Milton, who also wrote _Paradise Lost_. While _Paradise Lost_ was the one that dealt with the original Fall (Beelzebub and Lucifer show up in that, as do Asmodeus and Ashtoreth, names that may be familiar to Good Omens fans (*wink*)), the title didn't fit Aziraphale's mood regarding the whole thing. Also I always liked _Paradise Regained_ better, because Milton wrote a lot more plainly for that one and it's a more enjoyable epic overall.  
The scene referenced in _Romeo and Juliet_ you may have noticed I kept referring to as the _window_ scene. Balconies hadn't really been invented yet, in the original play, Juliet was at a window.  
The following old-timey insults and definitions came from Mental Floss ([here](https://www.mentalfloss.com/article/600105/old-insults-we-should-bring-back) and [here](https://www.mentalfloss.com/article/61819/42-old-english-insults)). I did my best to make sure they would have been used in 17th century England.  
Klazomaniac: someone who only seems to be able to speak by shouting  
Sciolist: someone who pretends to be knowledgeable.  
Scaramouch: A scaramouch is a boastful coward. It comes from the Italian _commedia dell'arte_, in which Scaramouch was a common stock character. (It is also, in my view, extremely fitting to use in a Good Omens fanfic, because Queen used the word in _Bohemian Rhapsody_ ("scaramouch, scaramouch, will you do the fandango?"))  
Scapegrace: An incorrigible character who literally escaped God's grace (again, an _extremely_ fitting word in a Good Omens fic!)  
Bobolyne: A fool  
Gobermouch: An old Irish word for a nosy, prying person who likes to interfere in other people’s business.  
Cumberworld: Also called a cumberground—someone who is so useless, they just serve to take up space.  
Stymphalist: In Greek mythology, one of The Twelve Labors of Hercules was to destroy the Stymphalian birds, a flock of monstrous, man-eating birds with metal beaks and feathers, who produced a stinking and highly toxic guano. A Stymphalist is someone who smells just as unpleasant.


End file.
